


Through the eye of a needle

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Declarations Of Love, Frottage, Half-Sibling Incest, Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Obsession, Slap Slap Kiss, Treat Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingolfin underestimates temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the eye of a needle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



Opportunity makes a thief. It was an old saying from Cuiviénen, one to which Ñolofinwë had never assigned any particular relevance. No one stole in Aman, and if somebody had in Cuiviénen it was certainly not out of mere temptation.

What he was doing had nothing to do with stealing. 

He wanted to see his brother, nothing more, he wanted to be in his presence for a while at a time where there was no barrier between them, and he didn't have to fake indifference or school his face into a mask of severe solemnity in order to hide his desire. The opportunity was too juicy, and for all he knew such a perfect combination of circumstances could never repeat itself again. Nerdanel and her sons were in the Halls of Aulë, but Fëanáro had been summoned to Tirion by their father to discuss a problem which had suddenly arisen with the supply of metals to the city from the mines, and was staying in the King's House. 

Anairë was staying in Alqualondë, with Eärwen, and there was therefore nothing to hold Ñolofinwë back from taking up residence in his father's house too, and be closer to his brother. 

Fëanáro of course paid him little attention, and they didn't see each other much outside of the meals they shared or the evenings spent talking with their father.

But at night Fëanáro slept alone in his chambers, with no servants close at hand, because he didn't favour being surrounded by people he wasn't sure he could trust. 

Ñolofinwë knew the way to Fëanáro's suite, though he could count the number of times he had made his way there during his two hundred years of life on the fingers of one hand. The number of times he had done it in his mind was much higher. He padded through empty corridors, stealthier than a cat stalking its prey. Fëanáro's chambers were spacious and airy, filled with the finest works of art, yet cold. They could have been uninhabited for centuries, so neat they were. Most doors in the vast apartment were closed. Ñolofinwë only briefly wondered what they might hide. He wasn't there to look on ordinary treasures. The one treasure he sought was unguarded, in plain view, beyond an open door.

Fëanáro's form was distinct in the middle of his bed. The window of his bedchamber faced west, and so the light of Tyelperion as well as that of the stars that shone brightest over Taniquetil poured generously into the room, falling right on his sleeping face. 

He looked so serene, so peaceable, so innocent. 

His shoulder – his naked shoulder – peeked from the light blanket that covered him, ironically the same which covered Ñolofinwë's bed: both had been gifted to them by their father, who had, for a time, given them identical presents in a childish attempt to bring them closer together.

Ñolofinwë lay his right hand on the smooth silk he knew very well, and tugged on it. The blanket slid from Fëanáro's neck and down to the middle of his back. Ñolofinwë exhaled noisily through his nose. 

Fëanáro, by the looks of it, slept naked. Or at least he didn't wear a shirt. Ñolofinwë's hand clenched and unclenched a few times in hesitation. He _had_ to know if it was only Fëanáro's upper body which was bare. He would just look, satisfy his curiosity, and then he would tuck his brother under the blanket once again and leave. 

He gripped the blanket tighter, and pulled it down so very slowly, inch by inch, holding his breath. It peeled away from Fëanáro's back, slid over his buttocks and his legs, until all of Fëanáro was revealed to his eyes. 

Fëanáro was, unfortunately, not completely naked, but the loose pants he wore were so flimsy Ñolofinwë could make out every line of his lower body without much effort, and with great relish.

Fëanáro slept on his side, hugging his pillow, but his lower body was slightly twisted, and his legs were splayed open. The right one stretched straight on the mattress, but the left was bent at the knee, presenting him to Ñolofinwë's eyes in a most tantalising position. 

He could almost have fancied Fëanáro had chosen to sleep like that for his own enjoyment. 

He lifted the blanket to his chest, but instead of drawing it back up his brother's body as he should have done, instead of leaving, he gathered it in his hands and tossed it aside, almost making it fall off the bed.

He eased his feet out of the soft slippers he wore. He carefully set one knee on the mattress, barely pressing down at first, to make sure that the bedsprings would make no sound and that the mattress wouldn't dip too much. He thanked his luck when neither happened, so he lifted himself, putting all his weight on his knee, then lifted the other one too, balancing himself with his hands. Fëanáro didn't stir, didn't seem to acknowledge an alien presence on his bed. His breathing was even, light as a baby's, his chest barely rising and falling with it.

Ñolofinwë stared, desire burning more ardent than ever before in him.

The strong swell of the muscles in his brother's bent leg was right there under his eyes, at just a few inches from his hands. Fëanáro was shorter but much heftier than he, owing to his build (Míriel – it was said – had been shorter than Indis but thick-boned and heavy-set) and to his work and exercise. Ñolofinwë could just make out the darker shape of his sack and of his cock between his thighs, darker than them, crowned by the lush curve of his asscheeks above.

His eyes licked the strong body, up along the contour of his back to his nape, only half-hidden by his hair, which was scattered all over the pillows.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, gazing at his brother's form unblinking, reverent, from his sharp profile down to the tips of his toes and back up, etching curves and dips in his mind. His arousal curdled within him. His fingers tingled with the urge to feel, and his pants became suddenly tighter.

Just one touch, _one touch_ , he whispered to himself, a taste of that which he could not have. even though the better part of himself knew it would be a spark strong enough to kindle a wildfire.

His right hand tremblingly reached for a half-naked calf. He caressed it, testing the smoothness of the skin. Fëanáro, again, didn't stir, and that emboldened Ñolofinwë. He circled the ankle, feeling the shape of the bone beneath. His hand slithered up, along his leg, pausing on his thigh. Almost without realising it, his hands were both at Fëanáro's ass. He palmed it and groped it, just barely at first, taking a tentative taste of his brother's smooth, firm skin. 

He needed more.

His brother was asleep, he wouldn't notice, and if he didn't notice, it would be as if it had never happened. But he needed this. 

His left hand hooked over the hem of Fëanáro's pants, and pulled them down. The translucent cotton slipped over the plump ass and Ñolofinwë let go of it, leaving it bunched around Fëanáro's thighs. He pulled Fëanáro's buttocks open, uncovering the hole which lay between them. He stared at it almost in fascination, then tickled it with his thumb. At that, Fëanáro mumbled in his sleep. Ñolofinwë jumped back and waited for a few heartbeats, scarcely breathing, before returning to his exploration.

He started sweating, and his heart was beating so fast his hands trembled as a result. He lowered his right hand to palm his own cock through his pants, while he kept caressing Fëanáro's ass with his left. 

He couldn't resist. 

He pulled his own cock out – he had to muffle a groan when it was freed from the pressure of his underwear. He dreamed of positioning himself at Fëanáro's entrance, of pushing against it and plunging into him. 

He opened both asscheeks and stuck his cock between them, then slid it up, and down again.

He repeated the movement, again and again, faster every time, his arousal flaring accordingly. Fëanáro was bound to wake up sooner or later, but he couldn't stop, and the longer he went on – the greater his pleasure became – the easier it was for him to believe he could truly get away with what he was doing.

His fingers dug into the flesh of Fëanáro's asscheeks, and that proved too much. 

“Wha -”

Fëanáro's eyes flew open and his head shot up from his pillow. He kicked his legs, and successfully dislodged Ñolofinwë, but Ñolofinwë was more alert than him and before Fëanáro could roll over, he glued himself to his back, forcing him to remain on his side. His left hand swiftly gripped Fëanáro's cock, squeezing it tight and pulling on it to prevent Fëanáro from slipping away.

“Ñolofinwë!” Fëanáro screamed, thrashing in his hold despite Ñolofinwë's hold on him. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Just – just a little longer,” Ñolofinwë pleaded in a broken voice, burying his face in Fëanáro's hair. “Please.”

“Let me go,” Fëanáro swung his left arm back, and hit him once with his elbow. 

Ñolofinwë leant forwards, in an attempt to immobilise Fëanáro with his weight, and pulled on his cock more firmly. He frantically tried to stick his own cock between Fëanáro's thighs, but Fëanáro clamped them shut, so he had to content himself with humping against his ass. His movements were awkward and erratic, but he didn't care. He rubbed against Fëanáro's asscheeks, his lower back, his asscrack as if in a frenzy, smearing them with his precome, moaning 'Fëanáro' over and over. 

When he came, he sprayed his seed all over Fëanáro's back, inhaling the scent of Fëanáro's hair. His body relaxed and his hold on Fëanáro slackened. 

Fëanáro rushed to leave the bed, holding his pants up with one hand, though his cock still hung out of them. Ñolofinwë couldn't prevent his gaze from fixing on it: it was completely soft.

“Get out,” Fëanáro hissed, pointing to the door.

Ñolofinwë came back to himself the moment he stared at Fëanáro's wrathful, distraught face. 

“Get out!” Fëanáro bellowed, grabbing the closest item – a crystal glass which stood on the nightstand - and hurling it in his direction. 

It missed Ñolofinwë, crashing against the wall at the other end of the room.

Ñolofinwë straightened his pants, but forgot his slippers, and made his way to the door quickly, looking back once. 

He was barely out of the room when Fëanáro slammed the door close behind him.

*

The next evening Ñolofinwë found Fëanáro sitting in an armchair, still dressed as he had been the previous night, his hair unkempt and his eyes dark-ringed. On the floor the brightly coloured shards of what had been a vase were mingled with those of the glass. The bed was still unmade, the blanket crumpled where he had thrown it. His slippers were still on the rug at the foot of the bed. 

Fëanáro hadn't shown up at the meeting with the representatives of the miners' guild, hadn't been seen at all the whole day, and the only servant who had approached his room had been chased away brusquely. Finwë, who was busy with negotiations until late evening, had asked Ñolofinwë to check on his brother. Ñolofinwë wasn't half as eager to do that as he would have been on any other occasion, but he didn't shirk from his duty: he would have to face Fëanáro sooner or later. 

Fëanáro tensed as he approached, and glared up at him, looking like a lion ready to pounce on its prey and tear it to shreds.

“Whatever have you come here for, now?” he spat.

“Father is worried,” Ñolofinwë said, coming to an abrupt halt halfway between the door and the armchair. “You could have sent him a message, at least.”

“Ah yes, I am the heartless one, I'm not supposed to be upset if I am assaulted in my sleep, in my very own bedroom...by my _half-brother_.”

“That is not what I meant,” Ñolofinwë said dryly, cringing at the loveless appellative, as he always had whenever Fëanáro called him that from when he had been a child and candidly puzzled by it. “I know what I did is...wrong.”

Fëanáro narrowed his eyes at the admission, evidently unimpressed by it. He studied Ñolofinwë, his eyes darting now and again towards the door, but instead of throwing him out he asked, “why did you do it?”

“I...lost control.”

“You lost control!” Fëanáro yelled. He jumped to his feet, balling his fists. “How far would you have gone if I hadn't woken up? Would you have stopped? Could you not apologise, at least?”

“I won't apologise. It was wrong of me to...touch you without your consent, but I would lie if I told you I regret it.” Fëanáro's face twisted into an even angrier scowl, and he took a couple steps forward. Ñolofinwë did the same. “I have long desired you. I would lie if I said what I did yesterday didn't gratify me. I will not ask your forgiveness, but I am ready to take responsibility for it.”

“Responsibility?” Fëanáro echoed, his voice still loud and harsh. “What, you will marry me?”

“If I could, I would.”

Fëanáro growled and swung his right fist towards his face. Ñolofinwë managed to parry the blow by sheer luck, grasping Fëanáro's arm with his hand, and tried to use his hold to draw Fëanáro towards himself.

Fëanáro easily shook his arm free. “Don't play with me!” 

“I do not regret doing it, but I do not wish to repeat it, nor do I wish to further upset you. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

Fëanáro grabbed the front of his shirt and whirled around, pushing him bodily against the wall. Ñolofinwë didn't put up any resistance, though he winced as his back collided with the cold marble.

Fëanáro stood in front of him, half-naked and deliciously close. “You are exactly like your mother! You do not care whose life you have to trample, so long as you can fulfil your “love”!” he snarled.

“Yes, I am like my mother,” Ñolofinwë blurted. The touch of Fëanáro's bare skin kindled his desire all over again, and his scornful words cracked his carefully studied reticence. “I am consumed by my longing. My mind is constantly turned to you. You are in all my dreams and fantasies, and my greatest wish is to make you mine.”

Fëanáro drew back, only to shake him and slam him against the wall again. 

“Yours? _Yours_?”

“I want to be with you, and touch you, and hold you, at all times. I love you.”

Fëanáro threw his head back and laughed, a loud mirthless sound. “You dirty, shamefaced bastard. How dare you to speak of loving me after what you did?”

“Because I do.”

“Why should I accept your “love”?”

“Because nobody would love you more thoroughly than me.”

“Liar.”

“I am no liar, I love you.”

Fëanáro's lips set in a thin line and he took a long deep breath, as if unsettled by Ñolofinwë's persistence. 

“Stop saying you love me,” he muttered.

“I love you. I –”

“Shut up!” 

Fëanáro lunged forward and kissed him, but when he did Ñolofinwë surged from the wall and returned the kiss with the same force. 

Their contest with lip and tongue continued, but silently, tangibly. Fëanáro clawed at the back of Ñolofinwë's shirt with his hands, yanking on it so hard Ñolofinwë felt the fabric start to give way. Ñolofinwë grasped Fëanáro's sides in turn, bringing their bodies flush together. Their mouths clashed together, opening and clamping down in mock-bites and attempts to devour, their tongues stabbing at each other. 

Ñolofinwë slowly turned them around, intending to push Fëanáro against the wall, but Fëanáro prevented him. He shoved him away, biting roughly on his lower lip, grabbed his left arm and twisted it around his back. 

“You want to take responsibility? Well, first of all, let me return your courtesy,” he hissed in Ñolofinwë's ear. He kicked the back of his knees, making him crumble to the ground, and knelt behind him. His right hand worked furiously at the laces of Ñolofinwë's pants, tugging and twisting until the string simply snapped and he could take Ñolofinwë's cock out. 

Ñolofinwë braced himself against the bed, unconsciously opening his legs wider the moment his brother's fingers wrapped around his length, the pain in his left arm all but forgotten.

Fëanáro fondled him, rubbing his palm and fingers up and down the perfectly hard length. “You've been like this the whole time, haven't you? So much for _not_ wishing to repeat it. You're just a filthy pervert.”

“Only for you,” Ñolofinwë moaned, his hips jerking forward as Fëanáro poked at his slit with his nail.

Fëanáro scoffed and draped himself over his back, until his breath tickled Ñolofinwë's nape, holding him down with his weight much as Ñolofinwë had done the previous night. The movement of his hand became faster, and Ñolofinwë's moans intensified accordingly. He began to call Fëanáro's name, low and insistent – almost a chant – rocking into Fëanáro's hand, further aroused by his heat at his back. He came all too soon, clenching his teeth as if that could have prevented it, his seed spilling from him in three long spurts.

Fëanáro let go of Ñolofinwë's cock, wiping his hand on the bedsheets. 

Ñolofinwë's knees gave way and he slowly turned around, sitting against the bed with his head tipped back on the mattress. Fëanáro towered above him and observed him, his eyes straying between Ñolofinwë and the white streaks of his seed on the floor and on the bed. The anger seemed to have drained from him, though he was still on his guard.

“Let's go see Father,” Ñolofinwë hazarded. 

Fëanáro's mistrustful gaze travelled from Ñolofinwë's broken lip down to his crotch – his softening cock and ruined pants. “Like this?" 

“Of course we will both make us presentable. Father will be happy...and relieved to see us together. You can tell him about what happened, too.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

Fëanáro bent, offering him the same hand he had used to jerk him off. “This isn't settled yet.”

Ñolofinwë grasped it and rose to his feet. He almost smiled, but managed to hide his relief and eagerness when he said, “no, it isn't.”


End file.
